


The Fallen Swan

by Copgirl1964



Series: Birthday Investigations [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-11
Updated: 2014-12-11
Packaged: 2018-03-01 02:18:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2755904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Copgirl1964/pseuds/Copgirl1964
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John and Mary spend a night at the Royal Opera in London watching Swan Lake. When the prima ballerina is attacked there is need to Sherlock Holmes. Part 1 of the Birthday Investigations Series.<br/>This story was kindly beta-ed by Johnsarmylady.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Fallen Swan

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jack63kids](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jack63kids/gifts).



“I'm so excited, John,” Mary exclaimed, squeezing John's hand tightly. They had returned home from their honeymoon to discover a belated wedding gift from Mycroft Holmes. In an envelope they had found a note in his elaborate handwriting, congratulating them and stating that he hoped they would enjoy an evening at the Royal Opera House. Attending a guest performance of Swan Lake by the Bolshoi Ballet Moscow. Included were tickets for a private box.  
In the box they had just found a bottle of champagne Dom Perignon in a cooler on a table. John and Mary looked at each other. Mary picked up the bottle and upon reading the label the laughed. “This is... wow...” Her posture and gestures showed that she was at a loss for words. For lack of an appropriate response John just kissed her.  
“Guess I have a problem staying angry for much longer.” John knew that Mycroft literally bought him but being on the receiving end of the elder Holmes' generosity did have its merits. And it did smooth quite a few of John's rather ruffled feathers.  
“Shall we keep the bottle until you can drink alcohol again?” John asked his wife. He was pleased that Sherlock hadn't told his brother about Mary's pregnancy. Otherwise Mycroft wouldn't have donated the bottle of champagne.  
“Yes, let's keep the bottle,” Mary replied. “I'd really love sharing the bottle with you know but it wouldn't not only be bad for the baby but also a total loss on my screwed taste-buds right now.  
The bell rung and people started flocking to their seats in earnest. Mary watched the arriving audience through a pair of binoculars when John nudged her in the side.  
“There is a woman waving. Looks like she means you.” John pointed at a woman with darkish brown curly hair and a cheeky grin standing between two rows in the stall.  
“Oh that's Jackie.” Mary waved back. “I know her from work. She hasn't been well lately. How nice of her husband to treat her a night out like this.”  
The bell rung again and the rest of the audience hurried into the auditorium and took their seats. The lights went down and the ballet started.

* * *

John and Mary held hands and even John decided that this was a very romantic evening. That is until a few minute after the intermission. The music just came to crescendo when the leading ballerina collapsed on the stage. The audience and about every dancer on stage gave a startled cry for it was unheard of that one of those dancers fell, slipped or even made a wrong move. They were simply the best. Mary, who had had her binoculars trained at the prima ballerina when she had suddenly gone limp, nudged John slightly. “She has been shot with a dart,” she told her husband.  
John shoved his phone into Mary's hand. “Call Sherlock. I see what I can do to help.” When John left the box, Mary was already dialling Sherlock's number.  
John ran down the stairs and got hold of one of the ushers. “I'm a doctor.” He told the woman, who right away took his arm and led him backstage. The ballerina had already been carried off the stage, and the house manager went on stage to make his announcement.  
“Ladies and gentleman, please remain seated. The ballerina had only a little breakdown. The performance will be continued in ten minutes time when the role of Odette will be danced by her understudy, Svetlana Komatova.”  
In theory this announcement would have worked to calm the audience, had Sherlock not chosen this exact moment to show up. The consulting detective loved having an audience. And having one as large and distinguished as this one was just his cup of tea. All cheekbones and swirling coat he jumped on stage and approached the startled house manager.  
“That's Sherlock Holmes!” Some people in the auditorium exclaimed, which got plenty of people muttering.  
“Where is the body?” Sherlock asked.  
'Body?' More people began to mutter amount themselves, obviously getting nervous. When Sherlock Holmes showed up somewhere, murder was involved, not a breakdown.  
“I need witnesses!” Sherlock shouted at the audience. “Did anybody see from where the ballerina was shot?”  
Apparently nobody did but the audience decided that the understudy really wasn't worth staying for when somebody had just been shot. They all wanted to leave. Now. All 2256 people – the house had been sold out that night - minus John and Mary, jumped up and headed for the exits. John was busy treating the ballerina, Mary guarded their bottle of champagne and was watching what went on from the safety of the box.  
The house manager's face had turned an angry red. “I had everything under control until you showed up,” he told Sherlock. “Now people will demand refunds. I hold you personally responsible and demand compensation.”  
Sherlock merely gave him a look over. “Just because your wife cheats on you and you haven't had sex in six weeks is no reason to get snippy on my.” He ruffled his hair and pulled up his collar. “And now I want to see the body.”  
“There is no body!” If anything the house manager was steaming even more from anger. “The ballerina was alive some minutes ago. She is in the care of some doctor.”  
“John Watson is not just some doctor.” Sherlock's temper was rising audibly. “You can consider yourself lucky that it is Doctor John Watson who is taking care of the ballerina. Her chances for survival have risen astronomically.”  
“You make it sound like he is a fucking heart surgeon when he is merely your sidekick.” The manager shouted.  
Seconds later he landed between two rather startled bassoon players in the orchestra pit, crashing into a music stand. Sherlock made his way backstage to find John.

* * *

“Sherlock!” John was pleased to see that his friend had arrived. He stood up from the stool he had been sitting on to check the prima ballerina's pulse once more. The woman apparently had been only unconscious from the dart. A man in his forties, sporting a goatee and glasses, was hovering nearby. He had stood up when Sherlock had entered the cloak room.  
John made the introduction. “Sherlock, this is Dimitri Chizhov, Russian ambassador and husband of Anastasia Chizhova. Mr. Chizhov, this is Sherlock Holmes.”  
“THE Sherlock Holmes? I heard so much about you.” Chizhov stepped forward to shake hands with Sherlock. “Tomorrow I have an appointment with a man called Mycroft Holmes. Are you related?”  
“He is my brother,” Sherlock said in a clipped tone. “Now, tell me about the incident.”  
Chizhov turned to his wife, and talked to her in Russian for a moment. Sherlock listened before switching to Russian himself, questioning the prima ballerina about motives, enemies and such.  
John didn't understand a word they were saying but kept a polite smile plastered on his face and nodded once in a while like he agreed. It made him feel less stupid.  
Sherlock needed merely ten minutes to figure out that the tour manager, Sergej Kurakov, was the one responsible for incapacitating the prima ballerina. Kurakov had wanted a relationship with Svetland Komatova, the understudy, who had rejected him. He had wanted revenge. Most likely he had stashed evidence in Komatova's cloak room to put blame on her.  
“If you will excuse us for a few minutes we have to make an arrest.” Both John and Sherlock left the cloak room and went to find Kurakov.  
The man ran as soon as he spotted them in the corridor. He was fast and has almost made it to the stage door when he was felled by a blond woman, who smashed a bottle over his head.  
“Mary, are you alright?” John asked, when he found his wife standing over the unfortunate Kurakow, on whose forehead already a lump began to grow. Mary nodded glumly, showing John that all what was left of their bottle of champagne was the neck.  
Sherlock put handcuffs on the Kurakov and handed him over to theatre security to hold onto him until the police arrived.  
Mary, John and Sherlock went back to the cloak room. Both Dimitri Chizhov and his wife were very pleased. When Mary told them she 'd demand a new bottle of champage from Kurakov, the ambassador took her hand, kissed it and promised her a whole cask of the best champagne Russia had to offer for compensation. John and Sherlock shook hands again with Chizhov and his wife but when they went for the door the ambassador stopped Sherlock.  
“Mr. Holmes, would you mind staying for a moment longer. There is a rather delicate matter I'd like to discuss with you.  
Sherlock nodded. Once John and Mary had left and closed the door behind them, he raised a questioning eyebrow.  
“Please, have a seat.” Sherlock sat down.  
“You see Mr. Holmes, my wife and I”, he took the prima ballerina's hand in his, “we're trying to have children for quite some time. Unfortunately I can't father children myself. Of course, test-tube fertilisation in some obscure institution is out of the question.”  
Sherlock nodded, not quite sure where this conversation was going.  
“Let me be frank, Mr. Holmes. You're a man that holds both brain and beauty. Therefore my wife and I agreed that we'd be both very happy if you would father our child.”  
Sherlock went rigid, staring at them in shock.  
“Of course, you'd be generously compensated.”  
Sherlock produced an apologetic smile. “As much as your offer pleases me, I'm so very sorry that I have to inform you that I myself am unable to father children.” Sherlock managed to blink back tears. The faces of the couple fell.  
“But, “Sherlock held up a finger, “as it happens my brother is more than capable. And he is also much smarter than I am.”  
“Is that so?” The ambassador was pleased. “Thank you, Mr. Holmes. I'm sure such an arrangement can also help to heal some, how shall I put it? Help healing some diplomatic injuries we have suffered by the British Government.”  
They shook hands again. “If you ever need a favour, do not hesitate to ask. And call me Dimitri.” Sherlock nodded and decided that he might be in serious need of asylum as soon as Mycroft found out about this. But for now he only buttoned up his coat and left.


End file.
